Very, very flawed.
When they reached the palace in Arkon, the air spirits flew through the open window and servants and guards swarmed over Hanna and Merecot. Hanna’s guards fussed over her until she shooed them back. Sinking into one of the velvet couches, Hanna stuffed herself with pastries and sipped at the sweet wines, trying to corral her mind into thinking coherently.
Merecot hadn’t overstated the problem. Now that Hanna had seen it for herself, she understood better the desperation that had driven her to act so recklessly.
But that didn’t excuse all the harm she had done.
“You said I would see the children when we returned,” Hanna said. If she had treated the children well, if she intended to bargain with them in good faith . . . Or as “good faith” as possible for a kidnapper and murderer . . . if she was acting with the best interests of her people in mind, then perhaps this could still all be resolved happily.
“Perhaps” being the key word, she thought. But still . . . if there was even a chance at a peaceful resolution . . . We don’t have to forgive her for all she’s done, but we do have to find a way to coexist with her.
Merecot crossed to the door and flung it open. “Send them in!”
Hanna heard them before she saw them: laughing and shouting, their feet pounding on the stone corridor, and then two richly dressed children tumbled into the room.
Erian and Llor.
Their faces were flushed. They were smiling. They were alive.
Seeing Hanna, Llor’s face lit up. “I know you! Erian, Erian! Look! We know her!” Both of them rushed to her side.
“Headmistress Hanna!” Erian said. “We’re so happy to see you! Queen Jastra told us we’d be seeing a familiar face soon.”
“I’d hoped it would be Mama,” Llor said.
Erian quickly added, “But it’s nice to see you too.”
Llor nodded in agreement. “You have a very nice face.”
Hanna felt herself smiling. No one had ever said she had a nice face. Usually students were too busy worrying over whether they’d pass or fail to think about whether their headmistress seemed “nice” or not. “Are you well? How has Queen Merecot treated you?”
“She gives us chocolate,” Llor said.
“She hasn’t hurt us,” Erian said, her eyes serious—Llor might not understand exactly what was going on or why he was here, but from Erian’s expression, Hanna was certain that Erian did. “But she hasn’t let us go home. Are you here to take us home, Headmistress?”
Hanna hesitated, unsure how to answer the question. She didn’t want to give her false hope, except would it be false? So far, all that Hanna had seen matched what Merecot claimed.
Queen Merecot swept forward. “It is all in your hands, Ambassador. Will you ask Queen Naelin to come to Semo and help me save my children, the people of this land?”
Hanna studied Erian and Llor for a moment more. Both were unharmed, well fed, and seemed to be—with the exception of missing their mother—happy. And Semo was exactly as Queen Merecot had described, overrun and in danger.
It could still be a trap, of course. But she’d seen enough to feel certain of one thing: Queen Naelin needed to come. Her children were here and alive, and there was a chance—a thin chance, true, but still a chance—to establish real, lasting peace. “You will keep your word? You will return the children if Queen Naelin negotiates in good faith?”
“If Queen Naelin comes to Semo and agrees to help me find a solution to our problem, then yes, her children will be free to go.” Queen Merecot made a shooing motion with her hand, as if the children were an irritation she wanted to be free of.
She probably does find them irritating, Hanna thought, suppressing a smile. Merecot didn’t strike her as the maternal type. Oddly, it was that little human reaction that made Hanna believe her, if not precisely trust her.
“Very well,” Hanna said. “I will send word to my queens. You’ll have help saving your people. But if you play us false . . . If you harm these children . . . If you fail to return them . . .”
Queen Merecot raised her eyebrows. “Ah, so this is the part of ‘diplomacy’ where we make cryptic threats? Believe me, Ambassador, I am well aware of the stakes and what will happen if I fail.”
Before Hanna could respond, Erian piped up. “Mama will kill you, that’s what will happen.” Her brother nodded stoutly beside her. “Yes,” Hanna said mildly. “I believe the children are correct.”
Queen Merecot was silent for a moment. “Send your message, Ambassador.”
Chapter 13
Naelin knew that Ambassador Hanna would send her report soon. She’d promised—as soon as she’d assessed the level of threat, as soon as she’d seen the children, as soon as she had any information, she’d send word.
“Soon” wasn’t soon enough.
After Naelin had the spirits demolish her chambers and then repair and rebuild them, she left her room and wandered through the halls of the palace. Courtiers and caretakers bowed to her, offering their condolences for her children’s supposed death.
She smiled brittlely at them and thanked them without correcting them.
It was safer if they didn’t know the truth. Or what she hoped was the truth.
Where is that message, Hanna?
Most regarded Naelin as if she were a fragile teacup that would shatter if they even went close to it or a wild animal who could snap at any moment. I can’t blame them, she thought. I am dangerous.
Fleeing from all the sympathetic and nervous glances, she ended up in the palace kitchen, which was empty except for Arin, Daleina’s younger sister. She was braiding dough to make a knotted pastry. Naelin stood in the archway silently for a moment, wondering if she should leave. Arin looked perfectly content, stretching and twisting the dough in peace, and Naelin didn’t want to shatter that peace with her own anxiousness.
Naelin’s eyes drifted to the winch for the dumbwaiter, and she remembered Erian and Llor telling her how Arin had turned the crank and lifted them up to the Queen’s Tower with the precious antidote. Their words had tumbled out of their mouths so fast that she could barely piece together what they were saying, but she knew that Arin had trusted them to save the queen—and they’d done it. Naelin had been bursting with pride when she’d heard.
No more remembering! No more thinking! Enough!
“May I join you?” Naelin asked.
Startled, Arin jumped. “Your Majesty! Yes, of course. Please. Can I get you anything?”
“Not unless you can bake me some patience.”
Arin looked sympathetic. “No word from Ambassador Hanna yet?”
Naelin sighed and shook her head. She sank onto a stool next to Arin. At least she was with someone who knew the truth—Arin had been in the room when Daleina read the ransom letter. Here, she didn’t have to fend off unwanted sympathy.
“You need a distraction,” Arin said. “A hobby. Like this.” She dipped a thick paintbrush into a cup and began painting butter onto the surface of the dough. It gleamed in the firelight from the kitchen hearth.
“I used to make charms,” Naelin offered. She’d been good at it, back when she’d believed that was all she needed to protect her family.
“Then make some.” Arin nodded at the pantry and at the dried herbs that hung from the rafters. “You’re in the best-stocked kitchen in Mittriel, and it’s not like you need to ask anyone’s permission, being queen and all.”